Last Christmas Skid Marks Read online

  "Paul said you guys were broke," my sister chimed in, "so we thought we wouldn't buy presents so you guys wouldn't feel bad about not getting us any."

  I looked at the carefully wrapped presents—in summery Christmas wrapping paper because we live in New Zealand dammit and not the northern hemisphere—sitting at the foot of our small artificial tree. All eyes followed me and an uncomfortable silence descended upon us.

  Paul smacked his hand to his forehead, drawing my angry attention to him. "I knew there was something I forgot to tell you, Hayley. My bad."

  His bad all right. He was so going to get it tonight after everyone had left. I telegraphed my intent and watched him squirm under my murderous gaze.

  Adam raised his hand sheepishly. "Sorry Hayley, but I didn't bring any either."

  "Okay then, no one gets any presents," I decided. Gone was the feeling of joy that I got when I gave out presents to my friends and family. Gone was the thrill I got when I saw how happy and surprised they were when I got them something they actually liked/wanted/needed. I'd just save them for their respective birthdays and not let this get to me. Christmas would not be ruined.

  "Does anyone want a drink?" my grandmother helpfully asked. Everyone readily agreed and the two of us went into the kitchen to pour generous glasses of alcohol.

  "Oh. My. God," I muttered once safely out of earshot.

  My grandma patted my shoulder and reached up to open the door to the liquor cabinet above our small fridge. "Don't worry my dear, Christmas isn't ruined. Knock on wood."

  I forced a smile as she rapped her knuckles against her head.

  "I think your mother has already started, so we'll just make sure to water down her drinks. Sometimes I have no idea where she came from. If I hadn't been there when she popped out of my vagina, I would swear she wasn't mine."

  My eyes bugged out. I didn't need that kind of imagery in my head. The last thing anyone wants to think about is their grandmother's genitals—or their mother passing through them. I grabbed the opened bottle from Grandma's hand and slammed back a gulp of whatever was in it. While it worked to bleach the gross thoughts from my mind, I wasn't prepared for the gin.

  "Goddamn," I wheezed and spluttered. Don't worry, Grandma isn't religious so I wasn't upsetting her in the least. No, she was somewhat amused by my situation and slapped me on the back so hard that I stumbled forward and banged my head on the still-open cabinet door.

  The noise attracted the attention of those in the other room. Paul, followed by my mother, came in to the cramped space to investigate.

  "You're bleeding," he helpfully pointed out. That wasn't sarcasm; I actually had no idea I had cut my forehead.

  I didn't need to look up to know that the loud thud behind him was my mother, who had collapsed on the floor. Other people's blood was her kryptonite. Dad was always the one who had bandaged our cuts when we were kids. It was just easier that way. Less fainting.

  "Is she okay?" I asked. No matter how mean she was, she was still my mother and I didn't want her to get hurt, and not just because taking her to the hospital would ruin Christmas. Unlike her I have a heart.

  "She's fine," Grandma said as she nudged her own daughter with her toe. "Paul, take her to the couch."

  "How?" he asked.

  "Pick her up and carry her. You have muscles boy, use them."

  While Paul did as ordered, my dad came in and studied my wound.

  "You'll live."

  "Pity," I muttered but smiled to show I was okay.

  "The oven light is off," he added.

  I spun around and stared at the little red light that was meant to light up when the oven was going, to let you know it was working, only to find it wasn't on.

  "No, no, no!" I cried and wrenched open the oven door. Fan-forced hot air blasted my face and I sighed in relief. The oven was working. The light was not.

  "I'll fix that later."

  "Thanks Dad," I said and grabbed the tongs to turned the veggies over. It wouldn't be long before we could sit down to eat. If we were lucky mum would stay passed out until after. I should have known by now that I had no luck at all.

  * * *

  "Where's your husband-to-be?" Grandma asked as she cracked walnuts open with her bare hands.

  That was an excellent question. He had been here just a few minutes ago, but now he was gone. I shrugged and decided to find him. The chicken was almost ready and I would need help serving.

  I checked the kitchen but my sister was the only one in there, sculling down cheap wine straight from the bottle! She hadn't noticed me so I decided to slip away and leave her to it. It made me secretly happy to know Chloe wasn't so perfect after all.

  The bathroom was occupied, but it was my father. I assured him I didn't need to go and that he could take his time. He was probably checking the plumbing to see if it needed fixing. I smiled and moved on. The apartment was small due to the high cost of rent in Auckland and it was never meant to be a permanent place for us to live. It was our halfway house. As soon as Paul graduated from law school and got a job, we would find something bigger and better. Maybe even buy a house.

  Before I could daydream about my preferred house—a Lockwood house with a two-person Japanese soaking tub and a large shower with at least two detachable showerheads—the door to the storage cupboard opened and I was suddenly pulled inside.

  I was too shocked to scream. But I admit that I was startled when a familiar mouth found mine in the darkness. They might have been familiar but the way they moved was nothing of the sort. He nibbled hungrily at my lips, teasing them with his tongue, seeking entry. I let him in and moaned as we wrestled in each other's mouths. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed and without realising it I started to dry hump his leg.

  Oh. My. God.

  "You taste so good," he murmured as he lathed a wet path from my jaw to behind my ear.

  I yanked his shirt up and over his head, intending to strip him naked, but got it stuck. We growled, both of us frustrated that he couldn't kiss me while his head was trapped. It didn't stop his hands as they slipped under my T-shirt and up to cup my large breasts.

  "They're so big," he said, although he sounded a little surprised by that. It's not like we were a celibate couple, it's just that we didn't have sex all that often and it usually wasn't anywhere near as good as this make-out session we were having in a closet.

  I pushed myself into his hands, encouraging him to squeeze harder. What I really wanted was for him to suck on my tits, but that wasn't happening until we could free his head. Hmm…free his head. He gasped when he realised what I was doing to his jeans. I had them unbuttoned and unzipped in moments and was in the process of inching them down his hips when the door flew open, the light from outside temporarily blinding me.

  "Hayley?" my sister said. Her shock was obvious. "Wh-what are you doing in here?"

  "Hayley?" Paul repeated under his shirt.

  "Chloe," I said as I blinked away the brightness. "Um, is the chicken ready?"

  Her mouth hung open but she managed to nod.

  "Thanks. Could you, um, let everyone know we'll be right there?"

  Another nod before she turned on her heel and left.

  Paul pulled his shirt down and his head popped out. He too blinked rapidly before looking at me.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi."

  "That was…"

  "Great," I said and after giving him one last lingering kiss that promised more later tonight—because goddammit I was now horny as hell and intending to collect and he was so off the hook for being out all night—I readjusted my bra and headed for the kitchen.

  I found Adam admiring the beautifully cooked chicken that he had put on the meat tray, ready for carving.

  "Damn that's a good chicken," I said as I joined him.

  He nodded. "I'm kinda surprised though. Considering the issues you've had with this shitty oven, I didn't think it'd cook it. Oh and the roast veggies look perfect too, sweetie."

&n
bsp; "See? I can cook."

  Adam finally tore his gaze from the bird and raised his eyebrows at me. "Looks like the chicken wasn't the only thing getting hot. You might want to splash some water on your face before you go out there."

  I clapped my hands to my face in horror. I forgot I was a blusher, a small number of the population prone to blushing at the drop of a hat. Right now I was sporting a horny flush across not just my face, but my chest.

  "Oh my fucking God," I breathed as I stared down at myself.

  "Maybe they'll just think your sunburn spread," Adam said, trying to be helpful but totally not. "Stick your head in the fridge and cool down while you get the salads out."

  "That's more helpful," I said and did exactly that.

  "So Paul can do it for you, huh?" he asked. Adam knew about my not-so-great sex life with Paul.

  I couldn't stop the silly grin that spread across my face even if I wanted to. "I just hope we can do it in the bed instead of in the closet."

  "Sorry, what? Did you just say the two of you were in the closet?"

  I nodded. No matter what he said I wasn't going to stop grinning.

  "That might explain a few things…"

  "Hang on, what?" I demanded as he sailed out of the kitchen with the chicken, laughing as he went.

  I grumbled but grabbed the heaped plate of roasted veggies along with one of the salads and followed him. Things were looking good. I'd gotten hot and heavy with my fiancé, the chicken was perfectly cooked, the tree was still standing, there was no flood, and no one needed to go to the hospital. Sure there had been a few hiccups, but it looked like I would finally get the Christmas I wanted after all.

  Yeah, I think you can guess that I jinxed it. Facepalm. Facepalm. Facepalm.

  While I had been dry humping my fiancé my mother had regained consciousness and hit the booze. But there was nothing I could do, not even if I hadn't had plates in my hands. No one could have foreseen this exact scenario.

  We all stood in shock as my mother stabbed the giant carving fork into the chicken and lifted it up, all while yelling: "I want a divorce," at my father.

  I watched in horror as it played out before me in slow motion. My tiny mother used all of her strength to fling the cooked to perfection chicken at my father. He didn't have time to get out of the way and the full force of the poultry hit him square in the chest, flipping him over backward. Reality returned to its usual pace, snapping me back into action.

  "Dad!" I yelled and dropped the food I was holding. Screw the veggies, my mother had just tried to kill my dad with a cooked chook!

  "I'm okay," he called from out of sight behind the table.

  That was a relief at least. But of course it didn't stop there. Things could always get worse and they did.

  The lights on the Christmas tree exploded in quick succession. I ran to the tree just in time to see the wretched dog finish urinating on it and the unopened presents. I may or may not have kicked the evil rodent and chased him around the living space.

  "Smoke!" someone yelled.

  Sure enough there was smoke, the cause of which was a spark from one of the blown bulbs, which had ignited the tree. My mother tossed the contents of the nearest glass over the fire, which was stupid as every glass at that point contained alcohol. The tree was now engulfed in flame. Adam appeared with the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and quickly dealt with the fire. I rushed around opening windows, switching on the fan and flapping a tea towel around in the hopes of ushering the smoke outside and not setting off the alarm. I had no intention of the fire brigade joining us for Christmas. It was strictly a family and friends affair.

  We breathed a sigh of relief as the smoke cleared quickly and the fire was extinguished. I stared morosely at the blackened remains of what had once been a small Christmas tree adorned with cheerful summery Christmas decorations—and not those dammed northern hemisphere ones because we live in the southern hemisphere dammit—and cried. Once again Christmas had been ruined.

  * * *

  "You know I never thought they'd top last year," Adam said as he selected a drumstick.

  "Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew they would," I told him. "They always do."

  "Why don't you give up on this idea of having a perfect Christmas? Go overseas and spend it away from your family."

  It was a tempting suggestion and one I'd considered many times, but I knew we had a perfect Christmas in us. They did exist. I know they did because when I was a kid they had always been perfect. I sighed and gnawed on a wing.

  "I knew that dog would hump anything but you'd have thought after you scared the shit out of him he wouldn't be able to get it up to hump that chicken."

  I groaned at the memory. Any thoughts of salvaging the roast chicken were dashed when we found the defiler having his way with it. "One day I'm going to kill that mutt."

  Adam laughed. "Don't worry, sweetie. Next year it'll be different. Things will change and they'll be better. You'll see."

  "You mean I'll get the baked ham"—mmm…baked ham—"pizza from Pizza Hut instead of chicken from KFC?"

  "Sure. Next time your family ruins Christmas you can get your pizza. Paul can go get his own KFC."

  "I want pancakes too."

  "For breakfast," Adam agreed.

  And with that another awful Christmas—thankfully—came to an end. Fingers crossed for next year…

  =^.^=

  Thank you reader

  I hope you enjoyed reading Last Christmas Skid Marks. I certainly loved writing it!

  If you did, please post a review and rating as it will help others find this book and also enjoy themselves.

  Want more Hayley? Then say so in your review.

  The more people who want Hayley, the more incentive I have to give you what you desire :)

  Did you know that there is an ongoing series that follows Hayley? It's a romantic comedy that features roller derby and inline hockey—and explains why Skid Marks is included in the title of this book!

  Get the first book in the series now: One Skid Mark

  About April

  Rock star, catwalk model, ventriloquist—April Ryder is none of these things. She is, however, a BBW housewife looking to spice up her sex life with her hardworking and supportive BBM (is that even a thing?) husband. April enjoys living on the beach and plans to further explore her sexy, sensual side writing romance.

  Also by April Ryder

  A Very Skid Marks Christmas

  This Christmas Skid Marks

  Last Christmas Skid Marks

  Lady Godiva

  Biker Babe

  Grim Reaper

  Third Wheel

  Highway Heaven

  Lady Godiva 1

  Skid Marks

  One Skid Mark

  Two Skid Marks

  Three Skid Marks

  Four Skid Marks

  Skid Marks and the Selby Slammers

  Watch for more at April Ryder’s site.